Boss Life Page 25
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MONDAY, AUGUST 6. During my pre-meeting shop stroll, I find Steve Maturin standing in front of a table that’s ready to go into the finishing room. It’s got sparkling flame cherry veneer on top, surrounded by a solid cherry edge. The base is mahogany. Wait. We never sell a table with this wood combination. There’s no point—they look similar at first glance but have a different texture, so they end up looking a little strange when used together.
I ask Steve what happened. He turns and stares at me, then says, “That’s what’s on the plans.” Really? I take a look. There’s a mock-up image of the table, taken from the initial proposal, with the woods clearly labeled: both top and base are cherry. But the cut list and notes, on the next page, call for mahogany.
I’m pretty sure I know what happened. Andy Stahl, the engineer, makes all our plan sets. He reuses portions of plans from previous projects. He regularly does this—it makes perfect sense—but he’s supposed to update all the text with the correct species. This time, he didn’t do it. I presume he was in a rush to get a plan sent out to the floor so that the shop guys wouldn’t be held up.
When Andy started drawing, back in 1998, we did fifty projects a year. Since then, we’ve quadrupled that number and added the CNC machine, resulting in even more engineering work. Andy does all this. He’s also in charge of ordering all the wood that the shop uses. Is it fair to have one guy try to keep up with that much work? Maybe not. But Andy seems to be keeping pace with the shop, especially since sales have been so slow. I know that errors like this happen, and I haven’t seen his workload as a crisis. So I haven’t tried to find help for him.
I ask Steve why he didn’t catch the discrepancy. He shrugs. I try to control my anger. “You need to be on top of this stuff. It’s your job to double-check those plans and make sure that everything makes sense. Andy has a lot on his plate, and there are going to be errors now and then. That’s why you need to review the plans, to catch those problems and fix them before they get downstream. Is that clear?” He gives a tiny nod. I tell him to make another base. Out of cherry. Even though that’s not on the plans.
I return to the office, still furious. That mistake cost at least a thousand dollars. I collect myself and start the meeting. Last week’s numbers, for once, were all good. Three new jobs came in, totaling $48,812, from the defense contractor, my dot-com company, and a bank. The last two received our new sales treatment, and it didn’t take months to close the deals. We’ve also had strong inquiries: twenty-three calls and e-mails, a mix of bosses and corporate buyers, the best so far this year. And we received more cash than we spent, despite payroll. Starting balance: $79,021. Income: $39,940. Outflow: $32,040. We’re up $7,900 for the week, and I have $86,921 on hand. I’m still down more than $50,000 since January, but for once, all indicators are positive.
To close, I recap the error at Steve’s bench and make a plea to stay alert for inconsistencies in the plans. “I think that we’re going to get busier soon,” I say hopefully. “Everyone has to pay attention to what they’re doing. Look at the plans and check that the woods match what’s on the first page. If something seems odd, speak up. Tell Steve, or tell me, if he’s not around. Errors are going to kill us, so let’s sniff them out before we build the wrong thing. OK, does anybody have anything to add?” To my surprise, Steve speaks up.
“We wouldn’t be having these problems if Andy didn’t send out so many fucked-up plans.”
Stunned silence from everyone. Steve never addresses the group meetings unless I ask him a question. We all wait for Steve to clarify this statement, but he says nothing more. He’s completed what he considers to be a useful contribution.
Andy’s face is turning red. Uh-oh. Andy is a very calm, courteous guy, until the very rare occasion when he gets angry. Then it’s an instant transformation into a volcano of rage. And there he goes. He’s up and shouting at Steve, who gives it right back. The rest of the crew is watching this exchange with interest. This is even better than the donuts. I am appalled. I hate shouting, and I try to never do it myself. And I’ve never seen two of my people fighting, ever.
I intercede. “Hold it, hold it, hold it! This is not the way to solve this. Andy, clearly you made a mistake. Apologize. Steve, you should have caught the error. Next time, check with Andy to find out what is correct. The rest of you, this is not the way we interact with one another. When we have problems, I want to concentrate on fixing them, not blaming one another.” I look at Steve and Andy. They’ve both calmed down and look embarrassed. Should I make them apologize and shake hands? Can I turn this into an uplifting moment of renewed brotherhood? Probably not. “OK, time to get back to work. That’s the meeting.”
I watch Steve walk away, then stop to see Andy, since his office is next to mine. “Are you OK?” He nods, then apologizes. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what comes over me. OK, I missed the mahogany notes when I pasted the cut list. He should have seen it.” I ask him if his workload is too much, but he says he can handle it. Now what? I can take him at his word or initiate a giant effort to increase our engineering capacity. Hire a trainee? Except Andy is the only one who knows how to do the drawings and program the CNC machine, and he’s already overloaded, or close to it. Will the workload get back to normal, or shrink even more? Then what will I do? I can’t see how instant action would make my life better, so I decide to trust Andy’s judgment and do nothing.
—
AT THE END of the afternoon, Will Krieger asks to see me in private. My mind races to the worst possible outcome: he’s quitting. I don’t know what I’ll do without him. It’s been an unpleasant day; now it will end with me losing my best guy. I steel myself and lead him to my office. “So what’s up?” I ask. He hesitates a second. “Ummm, I’ve been thinking.” He pauses. “I want a raise. I’ve been here two years now, and I’m still getting paid the same as when you hired me.” I sag with relief. This is easy. “How much do you want?” I’m willing to bump his pay, but in a negotiation like this, the first person to say a number loses. He might ask for what, to me, would be a trivial increase, like a dollar bump to the twenty-five dollars per hour he’s earning.
No such luck. “I was thinking thirty dollars an hour.” Given the amount of overtime he’s working, that’s close to fifteen thousand dollars a year. Hmmm. In his favor: he’s an intelligent, innovative worker with multiple skills. He gets along very well with everyone and has recruited an equally valuable friend. He is very professional: he keeps a clear separation between his personal life and work without being mysterious and aloof. He’s a credit to both himself and the company. I want to keep him happy.
Arguments against? I can’t think of anything. However, thirty dollars an hour is the top pay rate on the shop floor. That’s what I’m paying Steve Maturin. If I give Will a raise and word gets out (and it always does), Steve is going to ask for more money. And I don’t want to reward him. The shop is always a mess, and he’s impossible to talk to. He’s still on my shit list for ignoring Eduardo’s theft. And that display this morning was unacceptable. But I’ve had bigger problems all spring and summer, and I’ve avoided taking action.
As I think these points through, a strategy forms. I can solve two problems at once. I tell Will: “OK. I can do thirty. Honestly, you deserve that and more, but I can’t afford to give you a bigger bump. But there’s something else I want you to do. Thirty bucks is foreman’s pay. And you aren’t doing the foreman’s job. You’re a great bench hand, but you don’t have the foreman’s responsibility. There’s a whole world of planning and worrying that you haven’t done. Steve Maturin has been taking all that on, and I don’t think you have any idea what’s involved.” I’m certain of this. Will is twenty-six years old. He has worked at three jobs since he graduated from technical college, and none of them had any management responsibilities. “If I’m going to pay you more, I want more from you. I’d like to put you in charge of all shop
operations. Everything. You’re the only one out there who knows both the finishing and the shop floor. You’re smart enough to learn what Bob Foote does in a day. I want one person to be in charge of running the whole shooting match. And I think you can do it. The most important thing, to me, is that everyone likes you and respects you. Hell, I like you and respect you. But it’s going to be a shock to some of those guys, who are older than you and have been here longer. I’ll back you up, though. So what do you think?”
He’s surprised and hesitates before he says anything. “What about Steve Maturin? I’ve got a lot of respect for that guy.” Sure, as a craftsman, Steve is superb. But Will doesn’t know about all my issues with him. “I’ll take care of Steve. If you want, you can even keep him doing exactly what he’s doing, running the bench guys and the CNC. I want to put you in charge of everything. That’s a new position for us. We’ve never had one person doing that.” Well, except for me. But it’s been impossible for me to really do it. I’ve been stuck in the office, and the shop operations have become too complex.
Will takes all this in and then he repeats my argument back to me, saying it himself in order to own it. And his tone becomes more energetic, more enthusiastic. “I want to do this. I can do this.” He gives me a firm handshake.
On the drive home, I review the logic of promoting Will. My gut says I made the right move. I hadn’t planned on it, but my beef with Steve Maturin has been bothering me for months. If I keep things as they are, someday Will is going to realize that he could be working someplace better, or start his own shop. Will’s request for more money has broken through my unwillingness, on any given day, to confront one of my workers. I’ve let Steve Maturin’s subpar performance continue because I don’t have the guts to address it. The Zen of a very small business: When the Boss Is Ready, the Solution Will Appear (Sometimes). But it’s going to be an unpleasant conversation with Steve Maturin tomorrow.
All night, I’m caught in a mental loop, rehashing the pros and cons of my decision. It’s a relief to wake up and prepare Henry for day camp. Then off to the shop. First task: talk to Steve. He’s at his bench, enjoying a morning cigarette. I sit and greet him with a good morning. His reply—a nod. I start right in. “I’ve decided to make a change in the shop management. I’m creating a new position, operations manager, one person who will be in charge of everything that happens outside the office—bench guys, finishing, and shipping.” He looks at me warily but says nothing, so I continue. “I’m going to put Will Krieger into that position.” No reaction. “That means that from now on, you will be taking orders from him. I expect you two to work closely together, and I expect you to cooperate with him in every way.” Silence. “Do you have any questions?”
He exhales a cloud of smoke, though not in my face, and flicks his butt into a bucket of water. “Are you demoting me?”
“No. The exact scope of your duties is going to be worked out by you and Will. He may take over some of the things you do, or all of them, or none of them. That’s up to him.” We both know that I just dissembled. Of course it’s a demotion. He’s lost power. I continue, “Since you’ve been here so long, I’m not going to cut your pay. I’ll keep you on at thirty, but you’ll have less to worry about. You might even like it more. Less work.” Steve flinched when I mentioned a pay cut. I don’t think it occurred to him that it would be reasonable to do that when reducing someone’s responsibilities. “Do you have any questions?” He has none. “I’m going to announce this at the meeting on Monday. In the meanwhile, I’m going to let Will figure out how to make the transition. And as I said, I expect your full support and cooperation with whatever changes Will decides to make.” He says nothing, doesn’t even move. I get up and go back to the office.
—
WE’RE DEALING WITH the surge of calls from last week, and with our new methods, working through a backlog of inquiries is a lot more complicated than it used to be. More phone calls, more time doing screen shares with Glance, and more discussion among the three of us as we figure out who is on the other end of each inquiry and work out tactics for different types of buyers.
As usual at this time of year, we get a lot of inquiries from the military. Their fiscal year ends on September 30, and senior officers with money left in their budgets are finding ways to spend it. Upgrading their conference rooms always seems to be a popular choice, so they put some junior officer to work finding a table. Here’s an example:
Sir,
We are looking at having a conference table custom-made to fit our needs. I would like to send you a design plan on what we are looking for. Are you on the GSA schedule; and how long does it normally take you to make a customized table?
Federal contracting and invoicing rules are very complex. What’s our relationship with the General Services Administration? Will the government allow this buyer to buy from us, even if they want to? And even if they will, end-of-fiscal-year military clients aren’t as committed as a private-sector client. I’ve been told that unit commanders like to ask for a wide array of proposals and revisions and then choose the ones they like best. I like to do business with the military, because the shop floor guys like to make their very cool logos, and the federal government is a reliable payer. Unfortunately, most military projects end like this one:
Sir,
I am sorry that we were unable to make this purchase due to funding issues and will have to re-address in the future.
We can’t deploy our new methods on military inquiries, because we almost never have access to the decision makers. So we decide to continue sending written proposals. All our other clients are now getting the full treatment, and Dan and Nick feel as if they are guiding them to a commitment instead of just firing off proposals and crossing their fingers.
Thursday’s sales training session is a good one. Bob Waks takes us through a technique called the Up-Front Contract. It’s simple: before you launch into your spiel with a client, give them a brief summary of what you plan to talk about and ask whether that’s OK, or whether they had a different agenda in mind. There are two reasons for this: to force us to understand our pitch well enough to describe it in a single sentence, and to make sure that the client is ready to hear everything we have to say and not be distracted by some other issue. If they are, you can address the mismatch directly.
I marvel at the beauty of the concept. Most of what Bob teaches is plain common sense, but each lesson works with the others to create a coherent approach to sales. Why didn’t I think of any of this? How many jobs have I lost over the years because of my rigid tactics? I’m also amused by how Bob used all these techniques on me in our first meeting. I sensed that I was being managed and didn’t like it. But I bought anyway. My pain was disappearing sales. I needed his help, and I’m glad I got it.
—
ON WEDNESDAY, Nick closes a sale to a Pittsburgh architect. Using our new game plan, he got a commitment from her before making a design. He gave her a price quote and told her that she didn’t have time to do it any other way. She sent us her signed contract and promised that a check was on the way. The deal is worth $17,206. Dan and I, like disappointed fishermen who watch another angler reel in a trophy bass, keep working on our projects. By Friday we’ve had twenty-one calls and e-mails, and again, they’re a mix of bosses, mid-level buyers, military, and worthless. Heavy on the first two, lighter on the last.
On Friday, I take stock. Our monthly tally is $66,209. At this pace we won’t top $150,000 for the month. A small consolation: my cash position hardly changed. I took in $27,169 and spent $27,860. The net outflow isn’t enough to worry about. I’ll start next week with $86,230 on hand.
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AT MONDAY’S MEETING, after the numbers, it’s time to announce the regime change: “I have one more thing. I’ve decided to change the way that we run the shop. I want to have one person, not me, in charge of all operations: build, finish, and shipping: an operations manag
er, responsible for making sure that everyone is working together and that work flows smoothly. I’m putting Will Krieger in this position. I think you all know by now that he’s the right guy for this job. He’s been coming to me with great ideas for how to make the shop work better, and I want to get those projects going as soon as we can afford to do them.” Pause. What next? Should I go through all my other reasons for picking him? Talk about Steve Maturin? I don’t want to say anything negative here. Most of the guys look happy and nod toward Will. With two exceptions: Steve is gloomy, as expected. Ron Dedrick looks a little sour as well. He’s older than Will, has worked for me longer, and was in charge of the shop at his last job. He’s brought me ideas in the past, and I like him. But the other guys don’t—he has a tendency to point out their mistakes in a very grating manner, and he leaves a mess everywhere he works. And he has never asked me for more responsibility. I make a mental note to talk to him later.
After the meeting, I ask Will if I can see him before he heads to the shop floor. We retreat to my private office. I start with a question: “What do you plan to do first?” Will says, “I’d really like to start cleaning this place up. I wish we had Jésus back.” Me, too. We’ve heard nothing from him for two months. I have another question: “What are you going to do with Steve?” Will has already addressed the issue. “I spoke to him about that last week. I’m going to keep him doing what he’s doing, running the CNC. I want to learn how to run it myself, but that will take a while. And I’ll start getting the plans from Andy and reviewing them myself. I guess I’ll keep assigning work the way Steve does it. And I’ve got the jobs I’m working on, I’ll keep building as much as I can.”
That sounds sensible, but I have some other thoughts as well. “I think that’s a good place to start, but there’s a lot more to this job than you might realize. What I really want you to do, first, is to spend more time looking at how the other guys are doing their work. I believe Steve likes to just stay at his bench and work, right?” Will agrees—Steve is hardly a micromanager. I continue, “So right now, everyone is doing their job a slightly different way. And they can’t all be the best way. I don’t know which guy has the best approach to any particular task, but I suspect that it’s usually you or Steve.” They are the best craftsmen in the shop. “But it might be anyone. Ron Dedrick knows a lot, too. He’s worked in a bunch of different shops, more than anyone else here. So he might know some method that nobody else has heard of.” Will doesn’t look too enthusiastic about this. Ron can be arrogant. I keep talking. “Aside from just the basics of running the shop, you have two big problems: Steve and Ron. Those two are very productive workers. They both have good reason to be pissed off: Steve because you just took his power, and Ron because he didn’t get this promotion. So I’m challenging you to show them that I’ve made the right decision, and the best way you can do this is by treating them with respect and using some of their suggestions. Show that they’re valued for their ideas as well as their hands.”